by Cailyn Lloyd
Dana stood in the tight quarters of the RV and gave her mother a hug without a word.
She seemed to sense when Laura struggled and stood ready with open arms even though she had lost a brother. Laura felt Dana was the stronger of the two of them, admired her ability to deal with her grief.
“Okay?”
Laura nodded, took a moment more, focused on breathing. Relaxed.
“How’s the paper coming?”
“Five more pages.”
Laura squeezed past Dana. “I’m going to lie down with her. Get your paper done.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.”
Laura lay down and snuggled close to Leah, who had become a haven from the despair she sometimes felt, an emptiness that would never be filled. She tried to push the memory of Jacob away, but he appeared anyway: his inimitable grin and easy manner as he played with Leah in their yard. Mindfulness couldn’t contain the melancholy and she fell asleep with tears in her eyes.
Her dreams were often vivid and seldom happy, but now she dreamt of a funny little man wearing the cap and cloak of a magician, a wand in his right hand, mumbling unintelligibly.
He turned, looked her in the eye, and spoke sternly with an English accent, “Beware the red sky.”
He wandered off, muttering those words, and disappeared.
Laura woke with a start, unnerved by the apprehension those words inspired. They felt like an omen though she didn’t really believe in such nonsense. She stared at the ceiling and flexed her fingers, trying to shake the unease. A silly dream and nothing more, and still, the anxiety lingered. Sometimes, she wondered if she would ever be happy again.
Just after six o’clock, Lucas, Laura, and Nate sat in the Hall on stacks of building materials—lumber, tiles, buckets of paint and stain—chatting and drinking Spotted Cow, a local microbrew.
The air smelled dusty, filled with dancing motes stirred up by the relentless assault upon every corner of the house. It was quiet, though; the contractors gone for another day.
Zach and Hannah, who had been outdoors filming and talking to the roofing crew, wandered in.
“We’re done for the day,” Hannah said. “So where’s Ashley? We didn’t get a chance to talk to her.”
Nate said, “Meeting with the people from Frontgate. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
Zach looked to Nate and said, “I gotta tell you, dude, this is the middle of nowhere. It’s literally BFE.”
Nate grinned. “I warned you.”
Lucas gave a Zach a puzzled look. “What?”
“BFE, dude. Bum Fuck Egypt. How do you not know that?”
Lucas shrugged and laughed. “Sheltered life, I guess.”
Laura grew dizzy as the room seemed to cant sideways and spin. A queer shiver passed down her spine. Had she been standing, she might have stumbled. After a moment, her dizziness and nausea subsided.
No one seemed to notice.
Low blood sugar?
Not likely.
It was the letters: B F E.
Something about them bothered her and she had no idea why. It seemed illogical. She wasn’t superstitious by nature but they felt like an omen.
Three
The film crew returned in the morning for a final day of taping and interviews. By six o’clock, everyone was weary and had gathered in the Hall for beers and idle chitchat.
Laura said, “I don’t feel like cooking. Why don’t we grab burgers at that place in town?”
Everyone agreed enthusiastically except Dana, who said, “I’ll pass. I’m not that hungry, and I think Leah will be happier here.”
The road to town, County B, was narrow and serpentine, lined by an assortment of pines, maples, and hickory trees. It was beautiful, a dense wall of lush green that reminded her of her childhood home in upstate New York. At heart, she was a country girl, and this felt comfortable. The small hamlet of Lost Arrow consisted of maybe a dozen houses, a church, a gas station, and a tavern, all sheltered by older oaks and maples. Lucas braked abruptly and pulled into a parking spot in front of the tavern. Laura put a hand out to brace herself as Ashley and Nate pulled in next to their Silverado.
The White Birch Inn was a casualty of time. A longish one-story building with faded grey clapboard walls and a swayback shingled roof, the windows were adorned with the usual assortment of neon beer signs extolling the virtues of Pabst, Coors, and Miller High Life. It was cool and dark inside, the walls overlaid with cheap wood paneling. The ceiling, perhaps once white, was the color of old cigarette smoke. The smell of fried food and a danker undercurrent of stale beer lingered in the air.
“Beer?” Nate looked to Laura and Ashley.
“Spotted Cow,” Laura said. She preferred Chardonnay, but this looked like a two-wine bar, white or red.
“The same,” Ashley said.
“I’ve got this round.” Nate took their orders and walked over to the bar while they headed to a table. In an alcove, Laura saw a pool table, side tables, and chairs.
Two older men sitting at the other end of the bar glanced at them indifferently.
Laura sat next to Ashley, Nate’s wife. Ashley was attractive and petite, with long dark hair, piercing green eyes, and a near flawless complexion. Over the years, they had become close friends, but in the past few weeks, she sensed a barrier between them, felt it now. Stress from the move? The impression that Ashley felt Laura should move on from Jacob’s death? Maybe it had nothing to do with her. At thirty-nine, Ashley was childless and they had been talking about children for some time now, but Laura wondered if some problem existed. Ashley was touchy whenever the subject arose.
After a brief reflective silence, Hannah said, “So what’s the story on the house? Why did your mother let the place go to hell like that?”
Laura looked at Nate. “They don’t know the story?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “Nope. Never came up.”
Zach brought his camcorder up to catch the conversation.
Typical Nate. Nonchalant, cavalier about everything. Laura, feeling self-conscious, swept her hair behind her ear. “Lucas and Nate’s mother died about six months ago and left a fairly large estate. We knew she had squirreled away money over the years, but the house was a complete shock. Her first husband died a year after Nate was born, and she boarded the place up and moved away. She kept it a secret all those years, and we have no idea why. The four of us came up to check it out, and Nate and I fell in love with it—yeah, that sounds weird, but Nate had this vision about renovating the place and sold the concept to HGTV. Eventually, the other two came around and here we are.”
“On the surface, it sounds crazy,” Hannah said. “You just dropped everything in Illinois and moved here?”
“I guess. I had taken leave to take care of Leah, and Lucas had quit his job a few months before. It’s a long story and I’m not going into it.” No way would she open a conversation about Jacob, nor reveal that she was here mostly to escape her memories of Jacob in Illinois.
“Come on—”
“Sorry. Maybe another time.” Laura held firm. “Anyway, Nate’s a contractor, as you know, and Ashley was already working with him on web design and marketing. I guess you could say this all came along at the right moment.”
Looking to Nate, Hannah raised an eyebrow and asked, “Any ideas on why your mom kept this a secret?”
Ashley spoke. “Curiously enough, it seems she thought it was haunted.”
Hannah leaned in. “Really? How do you know that?”
“Her attorney thought that was the story,” Ashley said, with a slight head shake. “He didn’t know for sure either.”
“Oh, bullshit.” Lucas set his beer down with a dismissive gesture, an edge to his voice. “Mom didn’t have a superstitious bone in her body.”
“We don’t know that.” Nate held a hand up, palm out. “And chill, bro.”
“She lost her husband here,” Laura said. “Whatever she thought or felt about the farm d
idn’t have to be rational.”
Lucas sighed. “True, but—”
“People act in all sorts of crazy ways when they lose someone they love,” Laura said, her voice uneven. An awkward silence followed and she turned away from the others, forcing back tears. She felt a cold breeze blow through her as the memory of Jacob surfaced in vivid relief, turning her mood black. He had looked a lot like Lucas and sometimes, a smile or a head tilt could trigger these feelings. With the mindfulness exercises, she learned to manage these moments with various degrees of success. It took a moment to regain her composure.
They sipped their beers, thoughtful for a moment. Laura couldn’t fathom the mystery surrounding the farm. Couldn’t imagine why Elizabeth had kept the property secret all these years. Lucas and Nate had been born there and knew nothing of it. The loss of his father at such a young age had always troubled Lucas, and she knew beneath his dismissive attitude was a tinge of anger that his mother had kept this secret from him.
The conversation moved on.
“…yeah, I’m surprised the house wasn’t in worse condition,” Lucas said. “It’s been sitting for what, almost fifty years? It should be falling down.”
“This house is different,” Nate said. “The main beams in that house are full twelve-by-twelve oak timbers. They’re almost indestructible. I was more surprised the roof held up over the years. There were only a few holes in it.”
“Any explanation for that?” Zach asked.
“Stellar construction.” Nate shrugged and smirked. “Skeleton crew?”
Ashley elbowed him. “You’re a funny man, Nathan, but don’t quit your day job.”
The beers disappeared. Laura said, “We’ve got this round. Same, everyone?”
Nods all around.
She walked to the bar and ordered more beers. The bartender was a gruff old guy with a craggy face. As he set the bottles in front of her, he said, “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but what’s with the video guy?”
“Oh, we’re renovating a house, and they’re documenting it for HGTV.”
“Really? Here?”
“Yes. Just out of town.”
“Which house are you talking about?”
“The MacKenzie place, out on Firelane Eight.” Laura extended a hand. “I’m Laura MacKenzie.”
The bartender regarded her curiously for a moment and hesitantly shook her hand, appearing leery of taking it.
“Holy shit.” He looked incredulous. “I always hoped that place would burn down.”
Laura stared at him. “What? Why?”
He stared back, stone-faced. “You’re a MacKenzie. You know why.”
He took her money to make change. When he returned, he gave her a suspicious glance, laid the change down, and said, “That place is bad news. You’ll be sorry you opened it up again.” He turned and walked to the other end of the bar.
Laura gathered the bottles and returned to the table. “Apparently, the bartender doesn’t care for our house.”
“What?” Lucas stopped mid-sip.
“He said he’d always hoped it’d burn down, said we’ll be sorry.”
“Are you kidding?” Lucas said, eyebrows raised. “You ask him why?”
Laura shrugged. “Yeah. He looked at me and said, ‘You know why’.” She emulated his gruff expression.
“Ghosts,” Ashley whispered, wide-eyed in mock terror.
“It’s a small town, not much else to talk about,” Laura said. This quirk, the superstitious townspeople, only added to the mystery surrounding Elizabeth and the house. The haunting implications piqued her interest though. What were the origins of the stories? She would soon live in that house and wanted to know. She kept an eye on the bartender. He was talking to the two old guys at the end of the bar in a conspiratorial manner, glancing in her direction, shaking his head with obvious disapproval.
“So tell us more about the haunted house stories” Hannah said. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Come on, guys, why would you leave that out?”
“We don’t know any stories,” Laura said. “Just that Elizabeth thought it was haunted. I’m curious, though. I’m going to do a little research and see what I can find.”
“And you’re not concerned there might be substance to the stories?”
“Not even a little,” Lucas said. “Silly superstitions, nothing more.”
“Next time we’re up here, I expect a full report,” Hannah said in a rush. “Seriously, this is cool stuff, a great story angle.”
Nate raised a bottle. “It might be appropriate to toast Mom at this point.”
Lucas raised his bottle for a toast. “Dear Mom. I wish I understood the secrecy but no matter. It’s ironic your death made this all possible.”
Laura shot him a look. “Lucas!”
“Dear Mom. Love ya.” Lucas shrugged. “Better?”
The four of them raised their bottles and lightly clinked them together.
One of the old men watching shook his head in apparent dismay. No one seemed to notice but Laura, and it left her puzzled and uneasy. When Elizabeth’s attorney had talked about the townspeople, Laura assumed he was exaggerating. Now they were here, the superstitions were palpable, and she couldn’t dismiss them as easily as Lucas.
A wary chill passed through her like a skeletal hand sliding down her spine.
What do they know about the house that we don’t?
Four
Kenric Shepherd signed his name and pushed the completed paperwork across the oak desk to the loan officer. Perhaps in his mid-sixties, the man was impeccably dressed in a dark Burberry suit, a label Shepherd preferred as well. A sign of a discerning eye. The office too was impeccable, stately. Oak furniture and bookcases, muted colors, and two Thomas Moran landscapes. They had similar tastes. In another world, they might be friends. In this world, Shepherd had no friends and preferred it that way.
The banker folded the papers, stuffed them into an envelope, and handed them to Shepherd.
“Do you want to set up online banking for payments and balances?”
“No, thank you. Please send a statement and I’ll pay by check. I’m not one for technology,” Shepherd said.
“Your accent—a bit north of London?”
“Very good. Stratford-upon-Avon, actually.”
“Ah, home of Shakespeare.” The banker smiled. “What will you be teaching at the university?”
“Medieval studies. I specialize in the early English languages; Old English from the era of the great epic Beowulf to Middle English and Chaucer.”
“Fascinating.”
Shepherd questioned his sincerity. His chosen field was boring and esoteric to most, a passion for few.
“Enjoy the house, Doctor Shepherd. Welcome to Milwaukee.”
They stood and shook hands, Shepherd relieved this step was complete. He’d moved many times and found the process tedious—this particular move a consequence, in part, of accepting a professorship at Milwaukee University. That was the official story. His true motivations were stranger and still something of a mystery.
Shepherd sauntered out into bright sunshine, hopped in his Range Rover, fished an iPhone from his breast pocket, and checked his email. A confirmation had arrived. His furniture and gear had passed through customs and was Milwaukee-bound in a moving van. He breathed a sigh of relief; another hurdle cleared in the move from Rome.
Punching the address into the Touch Pro system, he drove to his new home, an aging Victorian two-story on the east side of the city just blocks from the Lake Michigan shoreline. The neighborhood was quiet and gentrified. The brick house, with a corner turret, reminded him of a property he’d owned in London long ago. Quite pricey but worth it. With the closing complete, he hooked a trailer to the Range Rover and drove to the nearest Lowe’s with a long list of building materials.
Later, he sat on the porch of his new house in a lovely wicker rocker, sipping an exquisite cup of Twinings English tea, a taste of home. The rays of the setting sun warmed his face. He
sat back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, letting his mind wander. He was peaceful and content. In the present—
An odd vibration disturbed the tranquility. Shepherd tensed.
A second, stronger tremor shook the porch.
Bloody hell!
Shepherd dropped the teacup and grabbed his head, trying to orient himself as the porch seemed to cant sideways and spin full-circle. He knew the feeling well, though he had never grown accustomed to it. It was always disconcerting. Always a shock, filled with foreboding and sometimes menace. The vibration, the shifting, the spinning; these were prodromal signs.
A premonition invariably followed.
He laid back, closed his eyes, and concentrated on breathing. Relaxing muscles. Clearing his head. Wriggled his fingers to relieve the tension in them. Waiting for the whirling-induced nausea to ebb.
What now?
When the spinning stopped, three letters appeared in his head in brilliant neon.
B F E
When his head had cleared, he stood and spun his right arm several times, mimicking a bowler in cricket, a silly affectation that he found relaxing. Shepherd walked to the kitchen, thought about brewing tea, then decided he needed something stronger. He poured a small glass of old Tawny Port. Sat at a makeshift table and sipped the delicious liquor. He had no idea what those letters meant, but they were important to his journey here.
He lived life on several planes: as a distinguished Oxford-educated professor who taught medieval studies and languages; as a grey hat hacker skilled in programming and computer security; and from an era that long preceded the information age, as a mystic who trained in the Hermetic traditions, a philosophy that intertwined spiritualism with early scientific study.
Those older beliefs informed the decision to move to Milwaukee. He’d had a dozen offers for professorships, several with prestigious European universities. His CV was enviable. Then he had a premonition. More than a premonition. A bone-shaking tremor followed by a vivid message.
